Na'hele Bica'na

I'll be blunt and fair: you baffle me!

In a subtle yet stunning way,

You managed somehow to express true beauty,

With simply being and made is seems like child's play.

I've read about it once in a long forgotten book,

That what you hold, it's more than beauty and being pretty;

It's something different and holds a deeper meaning,

You as a being, you're Nature's way of being witty.

Regarding those gems you call eyes and use to sight the whole world,

Many sank in their spell while trying to reach out to you,

And I do think the Flying Dutchman won't be needing crew for a while;

Because of the beautiful curse known as your eyes and the ravages they do.

I believe that above else, you're a wanderer,

Through the hearts of men at your own pace you walked down

On their pride and hopes which, as thin ice, broke under your heel;

And still, they pledged allegiance to your crown.

About your glorious smile, they talked over and over,

Thousands of poets trying their best to paint it in words with their ink,

But how can you write something that blooms out in the moonlight?

The Ninth Wonder of Earth some say, others: the blind ones, just saw  a blink...

Of your name I've heard long before I even heard of you.

It was written in gold on a falling Pheonix feather in the mist of twilight,

And just like your touch it was soft, warm and  forever eternal;

Na'hele Bica'na, a name that it’s both pure and bright.

Nadil’ama

You call me kind but, to be honest, the truth is

i find myself hopeless every single time

i get lost in your eyes and I find it a bliss,

...when i can't call it a crime.

I remember you, yes, I remember you clearly,

Back from the days when I thought of you as shy,

A mistake for which I paid dearly

While counting stars till my lips ran dry.

Now that you've blossomed, witness of twenty one autumns, 

I don't dare to question your beauty nor do I try

To defy the angels that from the height of their columns

Prey upon chance you'll gaze back at them as they die.

Haze of a strong, sweet and yet bitter scent rises slowly from your lips,

And I sense coffee, strong, hot and brown; much like your eyes,

In which, at night, whirlpools of stars are pulled under a full eclipse;

During the day, your eyelids keep trapped inside a thousand skies.

I asked the wind if poems written by time on your neck

Are still true, still full of wonders and gests of the new;

If your skin is still soft as the first snow falling on deck,

It laughed, the wind, without telling me if i'm worthy the view.

From your pace I could make the time's new golden gears,

For the whole world to forget the meaning of haste,

And for a while, breath it in, the dust of those years

They lost while chasing their lives, forgetting the taste.